


Oh God, Oh Fuck, Ringo Is Behind Me....

by steviejoel69



Category: The Beatles (Band), The Beatles (Cartoon)
Genre: Aliens, Gay Sex, Horny, Murder, References to the Beatles, Sex, feel free to use this as a forensics piece, maybe? - Freeform, nothing in this is accurate to real life, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:06:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steviejoel69/pseuds/steviejoel69
Summary: Ever wondered why Ringo Starr looks so youthful?
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Kudos: 11





	Oh God, Oh Fuck, Ringo Is Behind Me....

Don't turn around. He's there. Oh God he's everywhere fuck oh god. 

"Breaking News: our favorite intellectual has been assassinated, it is a sad day for music lovers and hippies everywhere. John Lennon has been shot! The Beatles have one less member!"

You remember that? That was fucking me. I killed John Lennon. I'm not like other girls. I'm Ringo Starr. I know what you're thinking. "What? RIngo, He was like your brother." Fuck that. That hippy bitch Winston Churchill-lover should have died a long time ago, with all the LSD he did. "Why would you do that? Why?" Because he’s an insufferable piece of greasy shit. We all are. Fame is a sham. Humanity is a farce. I was put here to end humanity. That's my job. Why do you think Pete Best quit? I convinced him to do it one night at the pub. The rest was easy. No, sorry Judith, I'm not a fucking prodigy. No, I’m not just shy. I’m a cryptid sent from the depths of hell to terrorize and eventually drive mankind into the ground. Why do you think i never aged? I am physically incapable of it. No man could bond so well with a band that advanced and tight-knight as well as Ringo Starr did. That's because I am no mortal man. I killed John with ease. He mellowed out in his middle age. In the beginning he was anxious and constantly questioning the morality of fame and wealth. Then his brain cells were killed by copious amounts of marijuana and LSD; soon he had trouble remembering the names of his band members. I didn't help that they all looked like disfigured clones of each other. 

They say Geoge did the most drugs, to cope with the shitty childhood, but George was actually a pretty happy kid. Until I joined.  
He was dull-witted and naive. He started building walls at a young age and had no intention of stopping. But slowly I convinced him to face his demons, and naturally, the only place to turn was the comfort of nothingness. He wanted love to replace his unfeeling childhood, but instead of helping him fill the void, I told him to fuck as many whores he could get his hands on. George became a veteran of orgies.  
He hated remembering the way his mother would ignore him. Starve him. Scream at him when he reminded her of his pitiful existence. He desperately clung to his god-given ability to play the bass guitar because it was all he had. Maybe his mom would notice him if he got really good? But she never cared. Why would she? He was a goddamn Beatle and still. Nothing. So he drank. He drank and drank and drank until one fateful day he was found drowned. The headlines said suicide. Easy.  
Ironically, John wasn’t the first victim. Paul was. Paul was the happy one. He was perfect. Good hair, good manners, an all-around perfect english boy. He had no weakness; except mortality. So I drove a car right through his perfect fucking face. Multiple times. Paul McCartney is one with the pavement now, and has been for a long time. Only problem was people  
Paul. They would have missed him. And apparently, I wasn't supposed to kill him. I misinterpreted the mission. Paul was a pure soul rewarded with the prize of a good life, but now he was dead. I collected dismembered remains in a black garbage bag, Frankenstein style, and built a new Paul. He was never the same though. I gave him a broken clavicle and a black eye before we thrust him back and told the whirl-wind world of the Beatles that Paul had been in an awful accident... No one really seemed to notice. A few tin foil hat college students found out, but no one in this world listens to the youth. Plus it sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?  
I’m a little disappointed I won't ever be able to kill them again. Ah, to see the look on their faces when they found out my intentions. George was the worst. He seemed so young, “You were so nice to me! We are friends, Ringo! Please, god this isn’t real.”  
I encouraged the drinking and watched as his liver gave out, but I wanted to guarantee his death took him for a field trip once I was sure his suffering was about to end. He cried. Oh lord did he cry. And I let him. I let him plead. I watched him suffer. I watched a little boy who just wanted to be loved as he gurgled beneath my forceful hands.  
Then there was John. John was smart. Too smart. He never liked me. He rarely liked anyone (excluding his crazy wife.) Which was probably wise. He had trouble trusting anyone who wasn’t Paul. Perhaps the years of incessant bullying lead to his obsession with peace and love and of course, the debilitating fear of losing the one person he trusts. He always was rude and moody around me, but he really disliked me after i killed Paul. It was like,,, he knew. He probably did. He was miserable. Paul was his whole life, until I ended it.  
The only problem was that damn wife of his. God, she was annoying. More annoying than John himself. I honestly think he chose her because she was the only person more fucked in the head than he was. See, Yoko and John had many things in common, but the most remarkable thing they seemed to have in common was separation anxiety. Yoko never left John’s side. Maybe it was because she wasn’t from the West, but those two were inseparable. Just like Paul and John.  
Needless to say, when she heard the gunshot and saw the blood speckled on my nose, I had no choice. I tortured her for days. I made her scream while I played her husband's shitty songs in the background. No one knew where Yoko was. No one cared. John Lennon, the least likeable Beatle, had been assassinated in cold blood.  
I convinced some crazy fucker from the streets to ‘admit’ to being the assassin. Ironic, the things people will do for fame. Something John despised more than anything. Fame. 

I killed the Beatles. And now, You’re next..


End file.
